


A Moment of Shelter

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - World War II, Anal Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, London, M/M, Oral Sex, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2018-02-18 21:16:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2362439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg and Mycroft take shelter from the bombs and comfort in each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Moment of Shelter

**Author's Note:**

> For gracelestrade and the "what if?" exchangelock.

London had a seedy underbelly at the best of times. Even in the middle of a war, crime still went on. If anything it was easier to disguise a murder as a bomb victim, though thankfully the bombs were coming less these days. Greg watched Sherlock crouch over the body, giving his usual deductions, John next to him. Not for the first time, he was glad for the wounded ex-soldier’s presence. London had enough injured, civilian and soldier, that John and Sherlock should find each other at just the right time felt like a miracle. On occasion he wondered if Mycroft had anything to do with it, but the man had enough on his plate with a war to win to spend his energy finding someone to take care of his brother.

Sherlock stood up suddenly and took off. John mumbled an apology and followed him. Greg turned away from his team and smiled; there would be a message later that day with whatever lead Sherlock hadn’t bothered telling him about.

After wrapping up the crime scene he headed back to Scotland Yard to do more paperwork. The afternoon papers came in and he stopped to read up on the Battle of Caen; D-Day had only been two months ago and it felt like they were working their way through France at a pretty steady rate. Sometimes Greg wondered about his father’s family home outside Rouen.

Then there came a message from Sherlock and Lestrade was back out again in the streets. It didn’t take long to make an arrest. Poor bastard had killed a man over a ration scheme gone bad. They were all having to tighten their belts, and some folks just couldn’t take it. Honestly it was a wonder more people didn’t snap and go mad with the daily threats of bombings and the news from overseas. It felt like the war had been going on forever and this was all the world was now: bombs and death and desperation. 

Greg shook his head. There was so much more to the world, and he knew it. They were moving through the continent. Hitler was falling back. And most important of all, there was still things in the world like love. Mycroft would shake his head at the sentiment.

Finally though his long day was over and he could head for his small flat. There was little surprise in an unmarked car waiting for him as he turned the corner. Smiling softly he got in and was soon transported to a tidy home on the edges of one of the more upscale neighborhoods. The cook let him in, gave him a knowing look, and headed out for the night.

Mycroft was in his kitchen looking over some paperwork that he quickly put away when Greg came in. Smiling, Greg poured himself some tea and tucked in to the dinner on the table. They didn’t speak, but they both relaxed more in the other’s company until they’d both finished eating and leaned back in their chairs.

Getting to his feet, Greg leaned in to kiss Mycroft gently before putting the dishes to soak. The first time he’d been here he’d washed them, then the cook had chastised him that he hadn’t washed them right, so after that he left them for her.

There was the scrape of a chair and Mycroft moved behind him, wrapping his hands around Greg’s waist. With a sigh he leaned back against him.

The moment was interrupted by air raid sirens.

In a matter of moments they were into the garden and down into the small air raid shelter. Greg secured the door while Mycroft lit a lamp. In the flickering light Greg could see how drawn and tired he was. Moving across the small space, Greg leaned in to kiss him. “It’ll be all right,” he said softly. “Things are getting better.”

“I am fully aware of the situation,” said Mycroft, shaking his head at him.

Greg ran his fingers through his lover’s short hair. “Better than me, I’m sure. Still, we’re stuck in here ‘till the all clear.” He kissed him again, gently then more insistent.

Mycroft smiled against his lips. “You are incorrigible.”

“I thought you liked that about me?” Greg squeezed his thigh, shifting the lamp out of the way.

There was a rare, soft smile on Mycroft’s face. Greg slipped to his knees in front of him, kissing his belly. Shifting, Mycroft made an effort to cover the softness, but Greg grabbed his hands and shook his head, planting another kiss there before moving lower. Mycroft let his legs fall open as Greg got the zip and started mouthing him through his pants.

Even with the muted sounds of an air raid outside, Greg wanted nothing more than to do this for Mycroft, to distract him, even if it was only for a few minutes. They both knew the danger, not only from the Germans, but also if anyone knew about them. Both their careers would be over in a heartbeat, if not worse. But it was worth the risk, worth all the risk. Greg tugged the band of his pants down and started on his shaft.

Mycroft leaned back against the concrete wall and Greg felt him start to relax under his ministrations, hand in his hair. After a few moments he handed him a small bottle and Greg pulled his trousers and pants down further, coating his fingers. He carefully started fingering his lover open, listening to the tiny sounds he let escape, breathing in the scent of him. He cherished these moments, wherever and whenever they could get them.

When Mycroft was ready, Greg pulled him over to the mattress they had along one wall and laid him down. Mycroft kicked off his trousers and looked up at him, trust in those blue eyes. Greg kissed him and started working his way inside. Mycroft’s legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him deeper.

A bomb hit somewhere far too close, shaking the shelter. Greg didn’t stop, didn’t raise his head. If he was going to get killed, at least it would be with the man he loved. Mycroft deepened the kiss and Greg’s hand moved to stroke him. 

As the all clear sounded they came together, panting one another’s air. Greg ran his fingers through Mycroft’s thin hair and smiled at him. “Least this was a short one,” he said, carefully pulling out.

Mycroft shrugged, pulling his clothes on. “I should see to the damage reports.”

Grabbing Mycroft’s arm and laying back on the mattress, he held Mycroft close to his chest. “The war will still be there in the morning.” 

Huffing, Mycroft settled in against him. Greg kissed the top of his head. The war _would_ still be there in the morning. And another crime scene too. But in this moment they had each other, and that was all that was important.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [merindab.tumblr.com.](http://merindab.tumblr.com/)


End file.
